Holdin' On
by AnimeniacAnonymous
Summary: A brief look into the mind of our favorite suicide enthusiast.


Hey everyone, here's my seventh installment of my yearlong Itunes challenge. I haven't read the manga for this series, so I've taken some liberties. I hope you enjoy it. ~AnimeniacAnonymous

Holdin' On

"You can't commit a double suicide alone~" Dazai was lying on the couch with his headphones on, blatantly ignoring Kunikida's annoyed look as he sat at his desk filling out the incredibly important and time-sensitive paperwork that was to be their work for the afternoon. He had more important things on his mind.

It had come to his mind today that he was on his five hundredth suicide attempt this morning when he attempted to step in front of a moving vehicle, only to be stopped by his partner's firm grip on his arm and nagging voice ringing in his ear: telling him not to trouble people with his attempts. Once he had come to this realization, Dazai began to wonder when his fascination with death began. It was because of this momentous occasion that he was currently lying in his favorite pondering position with headphones on but no music planning.

It had to have started before he joined the Port Mafia. Perhaps when he was little, living on the streets and surrounded by death and suffering every single day. Watching his mother struggle with the effort of living had been what had driven the black haired lad to the Port Mafia in the first place. Dazai had sworn that he would not suffer the way she had. But that job, for lack of a better term, had surrounded him with even more death and suffering. As he climbed through the ranks, the ability user had become accustomed to the sight and scent of death; has almost come to consider it a close confidant.

But eventually, rather than becoming completely numb to it, Dazai had become more encumbered by it. Every death had begun to weigh on him and, despite all his oaths to never do so; the black haired assassin began to feel the weight of living. His life began to be a heavy burden rather than a gift and he ran away from the responsibility he had to live it.

Dazai had committed his first attempt the day he had left the Mafia. He had always liked water and bridges, finding them a soothing balm amidst the chaos of his life. So it had seemed natural that he should die there, carried away in the river's soft embrace. But it had been interrupted. A young policeman had found him and pulled him away from the edge, chastising him for throwing away his life. So overcome with the realization that despite everything he was still alive, Dazai had merely nodded and went on his way. Even before he left the policeman's sight, the black haired man was already planning his next attempt.

The next one had been to slit his wrists. The blood had poured for sure, he had made sure to cut deep, but the pain had been too much. He had felt the sting of the blade cutting into him, had felt the heat slowly draining from his body and, after the adrenaline of the initial cut, the agony of protesting muscles screaming against the abuse. After patching himself up as best he could, Dazai had decided that he had to commit the perfect suicide: one with no witnesses and with no pain.

His acceptance into the Armed Detective Agency hadn't budged him from that goal in the least. Even after meeting all of the amazing people he worked with, the weight of living still felt like a bother. So he had continued and, for the most part, his compatriots accepted it as one of his quirks unless it appeared as though he was going to be successful in it. It was something Dazai found both endearing and infuriating.

Then he had found Atsushi-kun. The boy had been like a kicked kitten, completely let down by and afraid of society. The comparison became all the more apt when his ability came into account. Dazai had tried a couple of times since meeting the kid, but for some reason his heart just wasn't in it. It almost felt like the were-tiger was his pet almost. If he wasn't around to take care of Atsushi who would?

Frowning, the ability user recanted his previous view of the newest member of the Armed Detective Agency. Rather than a pet, Dazai felt like the young man was more like his protégée of sorts. But, unlike his last student, the older man felt like he was learning something from Atsushi as well as teaching him. When he saw the silver haired boy fight against the overwhelming weight of living, when he saw him cling to life despite its hardships and never give up, Dazai felt the heavy burden he had carried since childhood gradually lessen. It wasn't as difficult these days to get out and do things: it wasn't as hard to put on a smile so no one would see what he was truly like. And, if he had Atsushi to thank for that, well, he supposed he could live a little longer.

"Oi Dazai!" a hotheaded voice interrupted, yanking the headphones off of his head. "Get off your ass and give me a hand with these forms! They need to be turned in in two hours or the boss will have our heads. Even if you want to give yours up, some of us want to keep them attached for a while longer!"

"Aw, Kunikida, you sweet talker you!" Dazai responded, knowing it would make the blonde grit his teeth in frustration. It was always so fun riling the younger man up. "Just for that, I'll help you out. Gotta keep your pretty little head on your shoulders right?" His partner began ranting at him and shaking him vigorously. The bandaged man just laughed at the sight and put his suicide attempts at the back of his mind. Maybe he'd hang around for a little while.


End file.
